


love's not only blind, but deaf

by sungchanery



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Also Self Produced Duo Markno, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Band Fic, Connect the Dots, Lesbian Character, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Self Produced Artist Johnny, Trans Female Character, that's donghyuck, that's jeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungchanery/pseuds/sungchanery
Summary: Johnny, without a doubt, has a good ear for music.And that’s why, when his ears catch the lyrics that leave the singer’s mouth, even in his inebriated state, he just knows that this is not the first time he has ever heard of those exact words, in that exact order.
Relationships: Mark Lee & Suh Youngho | Johnny, Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Na Jaemin/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52
Collections: Challenge #3 — soulmates





	love's not only blind, but deaf

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello HELLO
> 
> i wanna thank a little wonder fest for this theme, as it would be the only incentive i would ever have to write abt soulmates. it's not my fave trope but i _do_ crave more platonic soulmate representation in fic, so i created it myself :D so, hope u enjoy my platonic soulmate bros johnmark ! 
> 
> fun fact: this idea is my first ever fic idea in the World, it came to me around 5 years ago and i cherished it up until Now, that is finally written! so it's kinda dear to me heheheh
> 
> now that all is said n done, hope u enjoy !! <3333

Johnny has a good ear for music. 

Years and years of self producing and training should have done the trick by now, and if that wasn’t enough, his affinity for everything musical ever since he was a young boy in Chicago, soaring from stage to stage with his guitar case on his back an extension of his like an angel and their wings, should be. 

He knows his worth, where he is and where he started, that his growth is a product of ceaseless, tough grind. Days, months,  _ years  _ spent with callused fingers on guitar strings and a notebook stack growing too tall for his bookcase to hold, post-its and receipts filled with what random inspiration hit him with sticking out of the pages. 

Johnny’s ear, aside from its natural aptness for music, somehow falls victim to gossip way too often. In his line of work people  _ talk;  _ being under the spotlight is enticing, lures you in, pushes you to tune in and to not change the channel for a while. Johnny has been stricken with it from the moment he has joined his company, a newcomer with talent and aspirations and his eyes over the industry looking out for all kinds of chances. 

That’s how he fell on  _ this _ crazy idea that manifests in his mind every now and then — soulmates can sing in your head, they say. 

Soulmates can burst into song inside each other’s minds, a private concert for two, lyrics resounding in the nooks and crannies of their brains no matter how far or how close they might be. Be it accidental words hummed in melody, known songs or original pieces, the soul bond of some allows them to communicate like that; a serenade that knows no limits. 

And that’s the catch with Johnny; songs dwell in his head more often than not. He is an artist goddammit, thinking about music while eating, sleeping, hell, even while fucking — God knows how many times he has stopped ramming his cock deep inside Jaemin just to note down a lyric or two. 

(So,  _ so  _ many times. Jaemin keeps paper on his bedside table just for Johnny after all those years. After that time Johnny just  _ had  _ to scribble words right on Jaemin’s tits for later.)

Johnny never had to second-guess his skills and ideas, to let rumors get to him; but recently something akin to unwanted, newfangled doubt arises in the pit of his stomach, eating him from the inside. 

It starts with a drought. Fatigue and the need to produce something fresh leave him fissured, letting the creativity that once filled him to the brim seep out through the cracks and carry every hint about new music with it. Everything he writes turns out stale, every press on his launchpad or strum down his guitar empty of character; and it’s hard to deal with. He drinks coffee to not fall asleep. He doesn’t sleep to compensate.  _ More working, more samples, more potential.  _ Dust settles on his coffee table at home while papers and papers of lyrics and music sheets cover his studio’s own. 

Until that dream, that is. 

Inspiration comes to him like some sort of slumber conjured oasis after miles and miles of creativity desert, and it wakes him up abruptly from where he had fallen asleep on his studio's desk. His head is pounding, headphones pressing uncomfortably on the shells of his ears after resting there for hours — days, really — but Johnny pays the pain no mind as he scrambles to grasp on the dreamlike words and trap them in a stray napkin he stumbled on while desperately feeling around the mess.

Unlike everything his mind had come up with these days, these lyrics make perfect sense. They sound new, confident,  _ almost _ practiced in his head. Verse after chorus after bridge flow like a river, unstoppable force  _ finally _ knocking the once immovable object his block was out of him. After the last word, he feels alive; the coffee that has long ago replaced the blood in his veins thrumming with excitement.

He chews on the borderline spoiled, leftover pizza Jaemin brought him last night with a barely contained smile on his face — and the bug-like doubt that was chewing on him clambers back in its cave.

Johnny goes back to his place after almost two weeks and he is hit with the mess he had left behind in favor of his job. Unpaid bills drag under his door when he pushes inside and not a single mug is clean for when the pitcher is full of warm coffee. It doesn't faze him all that much, though; he sits on a couple of dirty shirts on his desk chair and lies back, assessing the work he did while he was away and that's enough reminder that despite the mess that his space is in, his life is in order. 

(And if Jaemin nags him a bit because they will have to cuddle on dirty sheets, that's future Johnny's problem.)

  
  


"To Johnny's fucked up coping mechanisms that somehow pay off," Donghyuck raises her cuba libre up for a toast and Johnny and Yuta laugh, indulging her because, well, she's absolutely right. A good mood always brings them back to this bar; an underground gem of a place Johnny's old friends used to frequent, with a stage for local artists to walk on and make a spectacle out of whatever music they post on Soundcloud or burn into EP cds, dreaming of making it big. It worked for Johnny, being on that exact stage that now another band is setting their equipment up for a show. It's humbling coming here, almost, and he loves it dearly. 

"Do we know tonight's line-up?" 

"Some kids from around the block, I can't really put my finger on the name," Yuta shrugs while chugging down almost half of his pineapple Malibu. 

" _ Talk About _ ," Donghyuck nonchalantly joins in the conversation before she calls the bartender closer for another drink.

"Talk about what?" 

"Ah, right.  _ Talk About,  _ that was it." Yuta's eyes widen in recognition and Johnny follows them until he can check out the band's lousy logo, drawn on the bass drum with black and green Posca markers, making Johnny crack a smile with how endearingly amateur this entire thing looks. It really takes him back.

"I love being here. Excites me every time."

"That's only the twentieth time you've told us," Donghyuck jokes while handing him a shot. "Drink up, old man. Memories are memories. They're for the past."

"Oh, I disagree," Johnny takes the shot nonetheless, leaving his other drink down for a moment since his friend is feeling generous tonight. "Memories are snapshots of the past to revisit in the present."

"Brain pictures," Yuta agrees, holding his own shot of something unknown and white.

"That's an old man thing to say."

"Yeah, Donghyuck," Johnny grins and flashes her a wink. "But it's also a  _ rad  _ band name." 

After half an hour of drinking, laughing and a long,  _ long  _ fifteen minutes of Donghyuck shamelessly flirting with the girl next to her — subjecting her friends to the torture of being witnesses to that — the band takes its place on the stage, instruments in shaky hands and eyes glimmering with the adrenaline being on stage carries. Johnny gets it all; and is ready to relive it vicariously through them. 

“Hello ev—” A high pitched noise pierces the air after the singer’s first try to greet the audience, making everyone flinch and wince instead. The struggle of having bad equipment; Johnny sympathizes too much to feel uncomfortable. The boy on the stage — messy black hair, the plainest black t-shirt H&M basics can offer and his clammy hand wrapped around the grimy microphone stand like a lifeline — frowns at his bandmate sitting behind the drum kit, but tries again. 

“Sorry for that. So, uh,” he smiles apologetically, readjusting the strap of his guitar out of nervousness. Johnny’s endearing smile finds itself back on his face. “Hello, I’m Mark, that’s Jeno, we’re  _ Talk About,  _ and we wish you one hell of a night.”

With the first strum of Mark’s guitar and the moment Jeno’s sticks find the toms, Johnny can’t take his eyes off them both. He catches his head bopping to the beat and he isn’t mad about it, their music captivating, youthful; and he almost wishes he had come up with a couple of the lines Mark sings with a voice that gets too deep, in contrast with his nervous introduction earlier. The bass drum resonates inside him and he almost gets lost in the trance only a live like this can sweep you off your feet with. 

“This has been fun,” Mark breathes into the mic. “Thanks for being with us for one more night, fellas. This is our new track,  _ ‘Black Treacle.’” _

Johnny, without a doubt, has a good ear for music.

And that’s why, when his ears catch the lyrics that leave the singer’s mouth, even in his inebriated state, he just  _ knows  _ that this is not the first time he has ever heard of those exact words, in that exact order. 

“Holy fuck,” Yuta, as if reading his mind, mutters next to him.

“Holy  _ fuck _ ,” Donghyuck parrots when she catches up and Johnny, holy fuck indeed, is royally, sacredly  _ fucked.  _

The song,  _ this  _ song, should have been Johnny’s. And only  _ his.  _

But Mark sings it with everything he has right on that crummy bar stage — words _new, confident, practiced_ — and the doubt that was once crawling inside Johnny finds a chance to return and clutches it tightly. 

Wonder turns to realisation turns to anger; but everything makes way for the noise in Johnny’s head in the end. Like an echo in an empty room, he can hear every lyric Mark sings in double — he can  _ feel  _ them, almost material, pouncing on the inside of his skull — and he wonders how he didn’t notice this earlier. The song ends, Jeno throws her drumsticks to the crowd, free merch for the lucky ones; and Donghyuck isn’t either fast or strong enough to hold Johnny back from surging backstage. 

Mark is in the middle of downing what seems like ten gallons of water all at once when Johnny finds him, red-faced and furious. He doesn’t speak until Mark’s eyes find his; but Jeno is quicker. 

“Can we help you?”

“I—Mark? Mark, was it?”

“Jeno.”

“Right—sorry. Damn—” 

Johnny takes a second to put his thoughts in line. Jeno doesn’t need to be caught in the crossfire of him and his—he doesn’t even want to think about  _ that  _ yet. Not before this conversation. 

“I just want to talk to Mark, if that’s okay.” 

Mark makes quick work with the rest of his water and with a set of really furrowed eyebrows eyes Johnny suspiciously. 

“Me?”

“You’re Mark, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah, I  _ am  _ Mark but,” he brings a hand to the back of his head, an awkward scratch of the nape. “Who are  _ you?” _

“I’m—I’m Johnny.”

“Okay  _ Johnny,” _ Jeno intercepts, looking wary and almost protective, “you can talk here, right?”

“I was kinda hoping...no, you know what? Yeah, yeah I can.” 

Johnny takes a deep breath, lets his fingers run through the strands of his blond mullet and lets it all out. 

“Mark, here, stole my song.”

It’s almost funny to see Mark’s face change as emotions wash over it. Jeno, on the other hand, stands speechless, stupefaction clear on her sharp features. Even a couple of girls from the band next in the line-up turn their heads in shock after that declaration; but Johnny is unperturbed. 

“Mark did  _ what  _ exactly?”

“‘ _ Black Treacle’,  _ you called it? Yeah. He took that one. From my  _ head, _ ” Johnny repeats and the words feel stupid; but now it’s too late to take them back. 

Jeno scoffs while Mark’s still on the effort of deciding on a face expression and Johnny almost feels sorry for him. It’s the alcohol letting down his defenses, he thinks; but it’s not. He feels sorry, because he knows how important Mark’s music must be for him. For them both. 

“From your head. Right,” Jeno gets in front of Mark and if she wasn’t protective seconds back, she is now. “Can you hear yourself?”

“Jeno.”

Mark speaks after what resembles an eon of silence and Johnny seals his retort behind a tight-lipped line. He seems determined now and Johnny lets a thought slip; it is a good look on him. Jeno steps back, not a word spoken after Mark silenced her — blind, mute trust. 

“Stealing is a harsh word for what this is,” Mark’s eyes almost look like they’re begging him to understand; but they never lose their fire. “Come on, dude. You said it yourself. I took it right out of  _ your  _ head, didn’t I? Think about it.”

Oh, and Johnny thinks about it. Thinks back, on that day, thinks about the darkness of his studio, the bag of chips he had fallen asleep on, the empty can of pre-packaged black coffee he knocked over the desk when the loud words in his head shook him out of his slumber. Thinks about the rumor, about people hearing their soulmates’ songs in their heads, their lyrics in their minds. 

Mark smiles in understanding, Jeno furrows her eyebrows in confusion; and Johnny gets where he was wrong. 

“I thought so,” Mark brings a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing warm comfort inside him. The touch of a soulmate, and it feels so right that it makes his knees weak. Mark must have felt it too, because he retracts his hand as if burned, eyes widening. 

“What’s going on—”

“Johnny!”

Donghyuck and Yuta scramble backstage, crowding him and suddenly, it feels suffocating; the people, the scattered equipment, the loud music coming from behind him, his thoughts still being a mess. He looks at Mark, and one glance is enough to realise that he  _ gets  _ it. 

“We thought you would be dead,” Donghyuck chuckles with a nonchalance hinting that Johnny goes around angry-killing people habitually every Friday. 

“It would be a pity, so we came to save you,” Yuta follows, not able to afford not joining in the fun of making Johnny’s life a bit more interesting. “Your music’s cool.”

“Wouldn’t want a drumstick in the eye after word’s out that we’re the reason the pretty drummer girl’s gone.” Jeno, in all her confusion, finds time to roll her eyes at that. And also blush, a tiny lil, the fact not escaping the sharp, sapphic eye of Donghyuck’s. She winks at Jeno, and Johnny thinks that this is the cherry on top of this sundae. 

This time, he doesn’t need to look back at Mark at all; before he can even open his mouth Mark’s hand is around his wrist, firm and still clammy, pulling him out of the room with fast steps leaving Johnny unable to do anything but follow suit. 

“Where to?” Mark shouts with a deep voice louder than the shrill of the electric guitar they are slowly leaving behind and Johnny speaks before he can think; Mark, in all the chaos, feels  _ right.  _ And there is only one place Johnny is sure that they can go. 

“So,” he speaks only after a fifteen minute train ride to his company and a surprisingly not awkward enough elevator ride to his studio. The janitor doesn’t bat an eye when he sees them stumbling inside at God-knows-what o’clock; inspiration doesn’t work on a schedule, after all. 

“So,” Mark, ever so eloquently provides. “What now?” 

Johnny’s eye falls on an instant ramen cup; miso soup soaked and forgotten, a few dried noodles sticking on his desk. Jaemin would shove the chopstick up his nose if he saw that he still keeps garbage around. He lets out a little laugh, before it hits him.  _ Jaemin.  _

“I gotta tell you, man,” he reaches out for the cup and smiles fondly at the Shin Ramen label Jaemin likes so much — not without Mark’s slightly worried eyes following him — before throwing it in the trash. “I’ve heard about this before. This—this soulmate thing. I’ve thought it’s cool; kinda funny. Not gonna lie,” he breathes out a chuckle to the thought, “having someone to handle the rest of the cast in my head as I’m busy being Hamilton? Must feel good. Anyways,” and Mark takes a deep breath at that, thinking that maybe Johnny will cut to the chase, “that’s kinda...all there is to it. From my part.” 

When Mark releases that breath, to Johnny it feels like one of relief. He holds on to it, hopeful, until Mark speaks.

“That’s—yeah, that’s a cool way to go about it.” Mark tries to lean against the desk in an attempt to look casual, but when he knocks a pen on the floor, he decides against it. “I haven’t put much thought to it, until, uhm—twenty? Thirty minutes ago? Yeah. The point is—it’s all cool, dude. For real. No need to mind me at all. It’s not my thing.” 

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it? I mean—I  _ did  _ steal your song, after all. Minding you is the least of my worries,” Johnny laughs but it fails to reach his eyes when he thinks about what happened back in the bar. About his boss waiting, watchful eye over him, for new music. 

“Then lemme give it a listen,” Mark shrugs, a small smile settling on the lips he was biting out of restlessness. “If this thing wants to put music in our heads, let’s give it a run for its money.”

Johnny, for his good ear for music, has been uncharacteristically deaf to the universe banging at his door with the biggest opportunity of his life. Soulmates for Johnny had been nothing but rumors. Love’s not only blind, but deaf, he thought; the music Mark and Johnny make, though, is exactly like the rumors claimed: limitless. 

**Author's Note:**

> lemme give u a lil Insight: mark's in love with his brother's best friend jaehyun in here . they DO get together . and they DO hang out with johnny and jaemin at the bar they all met for the first time, even after years . that's a lil something for You, as a thank u for reading i guess :D


End file.
